“But Lyric still died.” The words come out harder than I intended.
“Yes.” Tamsin doesn’t flinch from the harshness. “The ritual still drained her. It just couldn’t give what it took to Morrigan.” She pauses, something careful in her expression. “If we can force that same instability in whatever ritual she’s planning for me?—”
“We’re not using you as bait.”
“I didn’t say we were. I said if we can force instability.” She meets my gaze steadily. “I’m not suggesting I sacrifice myself. I’m suggesting we understand the mechanics well enough to turn them against her.”
I hold her gaze for a long moment, searching for any sign of the self-destructive tendency Aisling warned me about. What I find instead is calculation. Strategy. The mind of someone who’s been trained for war and understands that knowledge is the most powerful weapon.
“Continue.”
She does. And somewhere between the third cup of tea and the fourth hour of research, the guards come down.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just... gradually. The careful distance we’ve both been maintaining starts to feel unnecessary. She stops editing her thoughts before speaking them. I stop analyzing her words for hidden meanings.
“I used to think duty was the highest virtue.” Tamsin is staring at a passage about magical binding, but her eyes have gone distant. “My parents raised me to believe that service to Valdoria came before everything. Before personal happiness. Before individual desires. Before—” She stops. “Before love.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m not sure duty and love are as separate as I thought.” She looks up at me. “Selene serves Drayke and the Brotherhood, but not because duty demands it. She serves because she loves them. The duty comes from the love, not the other way around.”
“That’s a dangerous way to think.” The words come automatically, the response I’ve given myself a thousand times. “Love makes people irrational. Makes them take risks that aren’t strategically sound. Makes them vulnerable.”
“Does it?” Her head tilts. “Or does it make them stronger? Selene would burn the world for Drayke. Nasyra came back from death for Zyphon. That’s not vulnerability. That’s power.”
I don’t have an answer. Six centuries of carefully constructed philosophy, challenged by a woman who’s known me for barely two weeks.
“You loved Lyric.” Her voice is gentle. “Was that vulnerability? Or was it what made you strong enough to survive losing her?”
The question hits somewhere I wasn’t prepared to defend. I feel the impact in my chest, a crack in ice I’ve maintained for decades.
“I don’t know anymore.” The admission surprises me as much as it seems to surprise her. “I used to think the love made the loss worse. That if I’d never let her in, losing her wouldn’t have destroyed me.” I stare at the table, at the books we’ve surrounded ourselves with, at anything but her too-perceptive eyes.
Silence stretches between us. Not uncomfortable. Just... present. Two people sitting with truths they don’t usually speak.
“What do you want?” Tamsin’s question catches me off guard. “After this. After Morrigan. If we survive—what do you want your life to look like?”
I stare at her. It’s not a question anyone has asked me in centuries. Perhaps ever. Dragons plan for contingencies, not futures. We strategize survival, not happiness.
“I don’t know.” The admission feels dangerous. “I haven’t thought about ‘after’ in a very long time. The present has always demanded too much attention.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.” I lean back in my chair, considering the question seriously for the first time. “I suppose... I want to feel something other than duty. I’ve been the Brotherhood’s strategist for so long that I’ve forgotten how to be anything else. Every decision filtered through tactical considerations. Every relationship evaluated for strategic value.” I pause. “It’s exhausting. And lonely. Though I didn’t realize how lonely until recently.”
“What changed recently?”
She knows the answer. I can see it in her eyes—the awareness that she’s the variable that disrupted my carefully ordered existence. But she’s asking anyway, giving me the choice to admit it or deflect.
“You arrived.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “Carrying a Relic and enough power to level mountains and more grief than anyone should have to bear. And instead of being the threat my logic insisted you must be, you were... you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s a fact.” I meet her eyes. “You don’t perform. You don’t calculate your responses for maximum strategic effect. You just... are who you are. Even when who you are is inconvenientor complicated or—” I stop, realizing I’m revealing more than I intended.
“Or?” She leans forward slightly, firelight dancing in her amber eyes.
“Or terrifying.” I force myself not to look away. “Because you make me want things I convinced myself I didn’t need. Make me feel things I’ve spent decades learning not to feel.”
